


blood falling to water

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, Gus is Shawn’s better half and moral compass, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Shawn never goes back to Santa Barbra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 03:48:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13402815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: “Vincit qui se vincit.” Reid says, instead.Shawn lets out a bitter laugh..Or, in which Spencer and Shawn have more in common than just a memory and name.





	blood falling to water

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly self-indulgent, and has probably way too much Latin in it for what it is but whatever. I also at some point may explore a prequel with Shawn’s story before, but we’ll see. 
> 
> Timelines? What timelines.  
> (If I had to estimate, and squeeze, I'd say no psych universe ‘cause Shawn never goes back to Santa Barbra, and probably mid/late season 3 Criminal Minds. After Spencer's kidnapping with Raphael and Gideon's departure.)
> 
> I own nothing, hope you enjoy.

Shawn, before any of it even begins, tell him, “Igne natura renovatur integra.”  
  
And Reid just nods and laughs, waits.

.

They meet at an annual police conference, of all things.

The year's location is Santa Maria, on the outskirts of Santa Barbara, and too far from Washington for anything less than a plane ticket. Nothing’s too special about any of it.

Reid gives the small speech he was invited for. Shows off as the bright eyed young genius showboy of the FBI, watches as the head agents nod to him talking to their supervisors, as if he’s some kind of show for them: his intellect a puzzle and entertainment for those above him.

He listens intently to other speakers after he’s finished, claps when everyone else does, and stands up when others do. He blends, follows the social cues he’s learned from all the years working with his team and pushing himself through school. Doesn’t give the other agents anything else to stare at.

When he turns to get some snacks, there’s already another person in his space. He makes sure he doesn’t jump, and plants his feet instead.  
  
“Doctor,” is the first thing the man says, stepping forward and filling the remaining space, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. And your presentation on the fall of the serial killer golden age? Amazing.”  
  
Reid smiles back, nods, offers a hand, plays the game, says, “Thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you, Mr.-”  
  
The man laughs, a bright light in a dull place, something that sounds a little too close to free for such a restrictive event, and Reid lets his shoulders fall after the man shakes his hand.

“ _Yet_.” Shawn says, “You haven’t heard about me _yet_ , Doctor. That is the key word. And call me Shawn. Formalities are boring.”

“Okay, Shawn,” Spencer says, feeding off the energy Shawn’s already producing, “care to define your yet, then?”

Maybe he should expect Shawn’s laugh, but for the first time in a while it’s a pleasant surprise over an ill one, so he doesn’t chide himself for it.

Shawn touches his nose and points back at him, still smiling, and says, “Yet, Doctor. You’ll know when you need to.”

.

Later, when he gets back to his hotel room for the night, thoroughly exhausted from a day filled with assumed superiority and too many high horses constantly trying to trample each other, he finds a folded slip of paper in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there.

He unfolds it, and finds a phone number on the back and a message in between the slips.

_See you soon, Doctor ;)  
S.S_

The poorly drawn winky face is enough to draw his lips up into a smile.

.

When he goes down to grab breakfast the next morning he catches a brief look at the Television. The station is broadcasting local news, and he doesn’t pay much attention until he hears the words “suspected homicide” and his head snaps up like it’s been conditioned to.

Reid grabs an apple from the fruit basket, a cup of black coffee and five sugars, and heads back up stairs to pack, turning his room’s Television on as soon as he gets in the door.

He watches as a young blonde woman reports the recent spike in crime and presents brief photos for, what the local police are calling, a possible homicide.

He plays with the number in his pocket and watches until the next commercial break.

He thinks he’s beginning to understand Shawn’s _yet._

.

“You’re crazy,” is the first thing Reid says after he types the number into his phone. He hears Shawn snicker on the other side.

“Okay, sure.” Shawn says, static blending in and out, making his amusement of the situation even more pronounced, “You’re the profiler, so I guess we’ll go with that. But let me ask you this, how opposed are you to the idea of joining?”

Reid takes a breath, and then another. Stays silent but on the line.

Shawn’s voice continues, “Your presentation was really good the other day, like I said, maybe even too good? I mean, it makes sense after all, that you would know your way around a psychopath’s head: given that you are one.”

More silence, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let a finger twitch. He wouldn’t put it passed Shawn to be stationed nearby and watching him.

A sigh, the sound of something cracking, and then, “One last time. You interested?”

Reid closes his eyes, thinks, sinks and swallows, says, “I’ll call you back in twenty minutes for a location.”

Shawn’s delighted laughter echoes through the hotel room even after he’s hung up.

.

“You know,” Reid starts, back against the diner seat, water untouched in front of him, “there’s a theory that all serial killers stem from an extra chromosome, and are predetermined to be killers at birth. There’s another one that says certain behaviors exhibited by parents during a child's formative years have lasting effects that often condition that child into a serial pattern, and soon after result in serial killings.”

Shawn raises an eyebrow across from him and takes a sip of his milkshake, leans forward until his head is resting on his hand, smiling almost fondly, and asks, “But you don’t really believe any of that, huh?”  
  
Reid thinks about everything he’s seen at the BAU. The fluctuating childhoods, inconsistent mental conditions, the happy beginning that result in a never-ending list of killers.

He thinks about how not all of the strings connect, about all the chaos that runs the world. Thinks about how he chose to become what he is now, and how Shawn did the same thing.

“No,” Reid says, shaking his head and straightening in his seat, watching Shawn’s smile grow. “I don’t.”

.

“Non ducor, duco,” Shawn tells him, eyes shining, and Reid cracks a smile.  
.

Reid calls the BAU because, well, he’d rather give them a heads up that he’s not going to be there. It’s smarter to sidetrack Garcia before she begins her search and cut them off before they even begin.

Shawn says it’s attachment, the word _fatal_ playing around the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything else. Reid suspects it has to do with the way Shawn leans like he’s expecting someone to be there, the way he tells his jokes-- half-finished, as if expecting someone else to finish them for him.

Shawn doesn’t push, so neither does Reid.

It’s Hotch who picks up the phone with a short, “Agent Hotchner.”

The first voice of the BAU Reid’s ever heard will also be his last. _Venit circulus plenus,_ he thinks.

“I’m leaving the BAU.” Reid says, unpracticed so the words are quick and sharp, his fingers already dancing across the phone.

“Spencer?” Hotch’s voice echoes down the line, confused, but Reid doesn’t have the time or patients - or lack of brain function - to comment.

“I don’t care what you do with the stuff at my desk, just wanted to let you know I won’t be returning to it.”

Shawn raises an eyebrow at him from outside the booth.

“Are you in trouble?” Hotch’s voice turns to something darker, “Reid, are you okay?”

He bristles, “Yes. I’m fine. I’m leaving, just thought it’d be best to let you know.”

“Reid,” Hotch tries, and Reid can hear the pleading edge to it, desperate and confused, something Hotch would never let slip under regular circumstances. Of course Reid knows these are anything but, and that Hotch himself is very close to figuring that out too.

He thinks he’s tired of this game. It’s time for a new one.

“Sorry, Hotch,” Spencer says, wondering if he’s really sorry at all. He has half a mind to say _it’s not fun anymore, Aaron. None of it is._ He should say Hotch’s real name, to distance and sever the connection, but he decides against it. It’s too risky.

He settles on a compromise, says, “Tell everyone I said goodbye.”

Hotch is scrambling for something as Spencer puts the phone back, which is a wonder in itself, Spencer’s never heard Hotch stumble over anything in his life.

When he hangs up he walks out of the booth, leaves his cell phone in the trashcan next to it for good measure, and looks up to find Shawn lounging in their car, smiling: overjoyed and all teeth.

“Ready?” Shawn asks, and Reid smiles.

.

In the back of his mind, fitting between theories of multiple universes and realities, their parallels and alternatives, he knows there is a universe where he makes another choice.

One where he doesn’t attend the spur of the moment conference, doesn’t meet Shawn, and shows up to the BAU the next morning and nearly everyone following after for work.

There’s a universe out there somewhere where when he feels blood on his hands and in between the spaces of his fingers, he doesn’t feel so excited to the point where he feels like he’s free of his own skin: the ruler of his own mind.

He knows that in another universe his mind isn’t the prison it is now, and the idea of a body broken by his own hand for study is a monstrous one.

But he’s not in that other universe. He’s in this one, with Shawn in the driver's seat and a career at the BAU flying by behind him at the speed of their own chase. A life determined by their rules, their terms.

“Did you know that most serial killer duos are husbands and wives?” Spencer starts, something to fill the silence.

“And that most of the time, after capture, the wives insist on blaming their husbands fully, even when evidence otherwise suggests they had a hand in the acts as well?”

“Aw, Spency,” Shawn says, not once glancing over from the driver's seat, “are you saying that one day you’re gonna try to blame this all on me? I’m flattered, truly.”

“You wish.” Reid says, rolling his eyes, “And who said I was the wife in this scenario?”

“Point taken. Although, it doesn’t matter much which role you chose. I can guarantee they both promise some fun.”

When Reid turns back to Shawn, he sees he’s already looking at him, still smiling.

“Promise?” Reid says, eyebrows raising.

“From the darkest depths of my heart.” Shawn says back, and presses harder the gas for good measure.

.

He hasn’t been anywhere, willingly, without his cell phone in nearly five years. Five years of waiting for the inevitable ringtone, the nightmare cases, pulling himself out of bed to clean up other people’s messes.

Shawn drives until they have to stop to sleep, and he enjoys every second of it.

.

They plan to stop at a motel on the edge of town. Not quite far enough for anything yet, Reid insist, and Shawn smirks and says that the chase if half the fun.

Reid almost wants to say, _you didn’t know my team_ , but refrains.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Reid asks, instead, already knowing the answer he’s going to get.

Shawn turns to him, hand still on the wheel, eyes scanning Reid up and down, searching for something that Reid can’t quite place.

“I have lots of things,” Shawn shrugs and turns back towards the road, and both of them pretend they can’t see Shawn’s hands tighten on the wheel.

Reid’s good at pretending.

“Nightmares are only some of them.”

It’s silent except for the sound of tires on road and the hum of the engine. Reid nods in acknowledgement, thinks maybe he should say _I have them too, you know_ because he feels he needs to do something.

“Vincit qui se vincit.” Reid says, instead.

Shawn lets out a bitter laugh.

.

They find a nearly abandon motel near the state line. Family owned, and five rooms total.

When they leave the next morning it’s early and they leave no trace of anything behind them.

Thirty minutes past the state line and surrounded by nothing but woods and rocks, they park and make their first drop off.

Analyzing and infiltrating their unsub’s mind in the BAU, putting themselves in their place, was one thing. Committing the act themselves is an entirely different one.

He’s buzzing out of his skin when they get back into the car, and neither of them can stop smiling. They turn on the radio to lessen the suspicion surrounding their high.

It feels even better than he thought it would.

.

He thinks maybe he’ll become a ghost like this.

Become a name mentioned in passing like Elle, or a fall into the wind like Gideon. He at least had more decorum than Gideon in this case though, at least he said goodbye.

Reid watches as road goes by, and stops counting the list of names behind them. He starts counting the ones ahead of them now, instead.

.

“There are a lot of ways this could go.” Reid says, careful and quiet, lips pinched and already calculating and drawing together statistic. Shawn lets out a sigh before he grins.

“Well, it’s your turn to pick.” Shawn says back, laughing at the way Reid’s eyes light up.

.

Here’s the trick about it all, Reid thinks, somewhere between Kansas and Missouri.

What makes him go with Shawn is the same thing that made him join the Bureau, the same thing that kept him to himself and in school for all those years, the same thing that kept him awake at night keeping his mother safe and trying not to think about just how much he might be like her.

The trick is that there’s no switch in him that Shawn turns, no spark to ignite, nothing new opened or revealed that wasn’t there before. The thing about Shawn is that he’s an opportunity for Reid to fall into what he’s always known he was going to be. Shawn’s the piece of the puzzle that makes it all fit together, that’s how this works.

What he is to Shawn is what Shawn is to him, both of them underestimated, overzealous, and excited.

Because here’s the thing. Before Dr. Reid there was Spencer Reid living the nightmare of becoming his mother, and before Shawn Spencer there was only Shawn living in his father’s shadow, already in the process of losing his best friend before he even left.

The thing about them is that have a lot in common, even before they meet. Same name, similar interest: a pair of identical geniuses, bored out of their minds with no place to exercise their theories until they meet each other.

.

“Okay, partner.” Shawn drawls, already in the driver’s seat and pulling out of town ready to land in another one. “Where to next?”

Reid hums, thinks, and decides, “Indiana.”

Shawn’s smile is sharp when he says, “Indiana it is, then.”

Reid thinks he likes it like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> \- Igne natura renovatur integra. = Through fire, nature is reborn whole.  
> \- Vincit qui se vincit = He conquers who conquers himself.  
> \- Non ducor, duco. = I am not lead, I lead.  
> \-  Venit circulus plenus = Comes full circle.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are much appreciated! I'm on tumblr as rhymesofblue.


End file.
